


Kiss, Kiss, Puff, Puff

by Aestheticdenbrough



Category: IT (1990), IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Drug Use, First Kiss, M/M, Marijuana, Recreational Drug Use, Shotgunning, Smoking, high kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-11-04 00:38:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17888204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aestheticdenbrough/pseuds/Aestheticdenbrough
Summary: High school is a year of experimentation for almost everyone. Especially for those in the small town of Derry, Maine. There’s not a lot to do out and about, the nearest mall is in Bangor just under an hour away, so they have to find other ways to entertain themselves. Bill Denbrough has done that for himself. He has two Cannabis plants in the corner of his bedroom, his entire residence being in his parent’s garage.In which Bill has weed plants named Atlas and Llana and he is known as a reliable weed dealer for the students of Derry High School. He has usual clients, usually the ones who are mean to him when he sees him otherwise. The bowers gang and Greta Bowie need to be careful with him because he knows they toke up in their free time.One night he gets a customer he never expected. He's not preppy and clean cut like many kids that he's surprised buy from him, he's a human disaster. Richie Tozier has never smoked weed before, and he definitely doesn't know what shotgunning is.





	Kiss, Kiss, Puff, Puff

High school is a year of experimentation for almost everyone. Especially for those in the small town of Derry, Maine. There’s not a lot to do out and about, the nearest mall is in Bangor just under an hour away, so they have to find other ways to entertain themselves. Bill Denbrough has done that for himself. He has two Cannabis plants in the corner of his bedroom, his entire residence being in his parent’s garage. He thinks he’s cool for it, having his own space, despite the fact that he roasts in summer and freezes in the winter.

At first the only purpose of them was for personal use, until some kids at school started finding out about it and he realized he could grow for a profit. He takes good care of his plants, not only because he can make money off of them, but because he likes to consider himself a good plant dad. He’s even named them, he thinks he’s funny though, calling them Atlas and Llana, both gotten off the same name website under the category of “Earth and nature”. They sit under the only window in his space, just under where the sun can fall onto them but it would take effort for someone to see them by looking through the window.

If his parents were any other parents they’d likely notice the random teens always just going in and out of their garage, maybe they do notice, but it’s quite clear that they don’t care. Gretta comes in her dad’s red truck nearly every Wednesday with a few bills clutched in her hand as she walks up the driveway to make sure she doesn’t forget it in the car nor drop it on the ground and lose it. Then it’s always Belch Huggins in that roaring car of his, coming to pick his stuff up behind the other’s back, he tries not to go too hard on Bill every other time he sees him, he wouldn’t do anything to risk getting the actually good stuff, Henry would probably have his head if they ended up with the shitty stuff.

It gives Bill some sense of power, and almost some level of unspoken popularity at Derry High, too bad it didn’t happen until his senior year. He often has the same customers, but once and a while it helps him meet someone new. Like on one cool October night he meets Richie Tozier. Richie never seemed like the type to be a bad boy or a stoner. He has a set of multicolored braces and a mess of dark brown hair that hardly ever isn’t in his face. His clothes never match and don’t fit him properly. Today is no exception, he comes to Bill’s door in a pink button up and some light wash ripped jeans that fall above his ankles, and not in a way that looks to be on purpose. He does often smell like cigarettes but it’s always taken to be because his dad’s smoking in the house and the occasional one, and he’s the last person Bill expected to sell to.

What’s even more surprising is how Richie already seems to act high when he’s really just sober and being himself. He seems like the kind to be high on life itself. Like the air he breathes leaves his brain in an odd loop. “How-day, roight chap, I’m here for one Will-yum and a dance with his plants,” the boy says when Bill opens the garage door with a grunt. Richie rocks back and forth on his heels and toes as he waits for Bill to gesture to invite him in, he’s never done this before, that much is clear. Bill’s suspicions on the kind of person Richie usually is are practically confirmed in that.

“H-how much? Ten b-bucks a gram, no exceptions, if I g-give you free, I need to give everyone free,” he says with a bored and tired sigh, the usual drill and his normal script. He goes to his top drawer of his dresser, a few baggies, one gram each, already measured out and prepared for people, but also Greta’s usual three grams for the week, and Beverly Marsh’s seven, he doesn’t know how she manages the money every time, knowing her family situation, but he doesn’t judge, and she’s never given him counterfeit. He doesn’t want to pry.

“Nah I know, mah man, Billy Boy, two Gs,” Richie says, his hands deep into his pockets to keep himself from fidgeting nervously. He tries to act like he fits into this kind of crowd but he truly feels like he never will actually belong. Bill doesn’t really belong anywhere either, he’s a class of his own, their grade only has 74 people, he’s probably the most well known one who sell weed. It’ the perfectionist in him, he won’t settle for shit.

Bill pulls out two baggies in the drawer, opening one to marry up the contents of them to give over to Richie. He’s usually quiet while he does this, soft indie music playing in the background during most of his waking hours. For now it’s something by some artist from England who hasn’t released anything in years but his old stuff is still good. His voice is raw and all the notes come from a deep and raspy place in his throat. It’s perfect for Bill’s angsty ass. The two exchange the money and the goods and Richie still stands in his spot on Bill’s floor. He doesn’t know what to do next. “Do you w-want to stay here or somethin’?” Bill asks, his intent mostly sarcastic.

“Uh, could I? I’d just be alone otherwise,” he mumbles in a small voice, not wanting to be bothersome, but Bill seems like a good candidate to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid. Bill at least has experience. Richie’s only trying because he’s been told that it may help with his ADHD or his anxiety, but he thinks it’ll only be more anxiety inducing to be in the home with his parents, they aren’t mean, but they can be strict with him with stuff like this. They don’t want him to get into too much trouble.

“Just b-be quiet, don’t br-break my shit,” Bill sighs, he’s not one to say no to people. It’s not something he’s very good at, and he doesn’t mind if Richie sits on his floor and hot boxes his room, even better on him. It makes him chuckle to himself as he sits on the edge of his bed and open his laptop again to return to where he was before Richie knocked on the garage. Richie pulls a piece of lined paper out of his pocket, obviously not knowing enough to get proper wraps or anything to roll with. Bill sighs again at his ignorance.

He gets off his bed and takes the paper from Richie’s hands, “Do you r-really want to smoke paper?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at him quizzically, seeming just a little too condescending to be joking with him entirely. He opens another drawer and pulls out brown wrap paper to offer it, “I won’t m-make you buy it off me j-just because you’re such an idiot,” he chuckles and takes the baggie of the two green nuggets to put it through his grinder and roll it up quickly for him. His fingers are nimble and boney, it’s one of his favorite parts of himself, it makes for easy rolling, he’s quit agile but doesn’t have the best stamina, perfect for hand based activities.

Richie sits awkwardly on the carpet as Bill does so, watching intently in hopes of eventually learning to do it himself as well. He feels like a bit of a bother, but the feeling will soon melt away with his first couple hits. He finds out that his face looks weird when he does when it makes Bill laugh slightly, the redhead paying more attention to Richie than he’s planned to. Richie passes the joint over to Bill like he sees people do in the movies.

Bill takes a hit as offered, making a face after, “How th-the fuck did you a-already get the end wet?” he asks, coughing on the smoke in his surprise, he usually can hold it in longer but his laughter shortens it.

Richie takes it back sheepishly, “My braces probably,” he says, taking another pull off the joint after a moment, it makes him cough even more than Bill had, very obviously inexperienced in the act of smoking, especially for the sole purpose of getting high. He wants to be like Bill and do it well and impress him. He’s really cool, he doesn’t belong but he’s never needed to.

He takes about three unsuccessful hits, his eyes watering and his entire face going red. Bill laughs for a moment and then passes him an unopened water bottle from the mini fridge. Richie gulps it down gratefully to stop the burning sensation in his throat. “You really d-don’t smoke as much as people think you do, huh?” Bill asks him, his stutter slowing with the high taking him over again, he hadn’t smoked in the last couple of hours, so he got pretty lucky just sharing with Richie.

“Yeah, used to when I was stressed in middle school but my mom whacked me with the dish towel enough to convince me to stop, she was worried,” he says with a light and airy chuckle to himself. He takes a smaller hit and his lungs still seize up a bit and make him choke again.

“Here, l-lemme help,” Bill says, climbing off of his bed to the floor where Richie is. He’s no stranger to shotgunning. He does it a lot, especially with friends, but he does want Richie to get a nice kind of high. He can’t have people bad mouthing the quality of what he grows. He sits in front of Richie, taking a full hit off the joint before leaning forward and his lips grazing Richie’s as he blows out into Richie’s mouth. Now, Richie doesn’t know much about shotgunning and doesn’t really know what’s going on. He pushes forward into Bill’s lips, trying to kiss him, thinking that’s what’s happening. 

Bill almost thinks to pull away, but he decides it’s not too bad. Richie is kinda cute, in his own way. He’s a good enough kisser, his lips are only about as chapped as Bill’s own. And nobody has to know what high shenanigans he gets into.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if you all would like this to be a series!


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